Vieni fuori: Dallapiccola's Prigioniero with the NYPhil

I went to Saturday's concert with the New York Philharmonic for the sake of Luigi Dallapiccola's rarely performed Il Prigioniero, but ended up being entranced by the Prokoviev violin concerto which preceded it, as well.  Alan Gilbert and his orchestra were on very fine form. The degree of subtlety which they achieved in the concerto, and the sheer variety of orchestral textures in the opera, both were very impressive. I thought the latter might have used a little more dynamic restraint, but I don't know the score, and the overwhelming quality of the fortissimi may have been just what was called for.

Prokoviev's first violin concerto is singularly lovely; in this performance, it also registered as uneasy and elegiac. Its unusual form and unusual melodic patterns seemed to be gesturing towards an inarticulable truth. Lisa Batiashvili played with clarity and, in the first and third movements, with a haunting, remote melancholy of tone. Within the melancholy of the first movement she found extraordinary nuance, using the melodic progressions to move from near-anger to reflection sensual and sad as a rainy day, expressing questions of hope and fear. The strings supporting her were soft and smooth, the winds skillful and sympathetic in their echoing of the solo line. Gilbert emphasized the aggressive plurality of conflicting orchestral voices in the scherzo, with malicious pizzicato strings, wild winds, and dangerous brass. Batiashvili too embraced the unsettling mischief of the movement, varying her bowing technique, sometimes sweeping or bouncing against the strings, sometimes playing with almost delirious fluidity. Against the driven rhythms of the strings, the anxious questioning of the woodwinds, the plunging brass in the third movement, the dreamy romanticism of the solo violin wins an improbable victory. The intensity of the opera, in the second half, was of a different nature.

And the dark became desire: Renée Fleming and the NYPhil at Carnegie Hall

The centerpiece of Friday evening's Carnegie Hall concert was unquestionably Anders Hillborg's The Strand Settings, a song cycle commissioned by the New York Philharmonic for Renée Fleming, and receiving its world premiere. Just as unquestionably, the occasion was an event: the buzz of audience chatter proclaimed eager anticipation in several languages. The performance, in its energy and subtlety, gratified this anticipation not only in the haunting, lapidary lieder, but in surprisingly nuanced and insightful accounts of two repertory staples. The programming of Respighi's Fountains of Rome and the Mussorgsky/Ravel Pictures at an Exhibition alongside Hillborg's work helped me hear each of the familiar works differently.

Bach's Mass in B Minor with the NYPhil

I have to accept the way [Bach] believed. His music never stops praying.... I do not believe in the Gospels in a literal fashion, but a Bach fugue has the Crucifixion in it—as the nails are being driven in.  --György Kurtág

This week, the New York Philharmonic's ongoing Bach Variations festival brings a deeply impressive slate of soloists to join the orchestra and the New York Choral Artists as Alan Gilbert leads his first performances of the B Minor Mass; I attended the first of these on Wednesday. For me, this was the first live performance of a piece I've listened to countless time since it taught me, when I was seven, that grown-ups could cry, and it's music I love deeply. It's music that's prayed with me and that has prayed for me when I could not. Under Gilbert's baton, the order and beauty of the baroque were celebrated in all their magnificence. Collectively and severally, the members of the orchestra delivered passionate and polished performances. And the evening led me to ponder: when it comes to Bach--especially when it comes to this Bach--can one achieve excellence without confronting eternity?

Season's end: Mozartean joie de vivre with the NYPhil

The New York Philharmonic seems to have taken as a truth universally acknowledged that you really can't top Mozart, and their season finale concerts are devoted entirely to that composer, pairing the 22nd piano concerto with the Great Mass in C minor. The Beloved Flatmate and I treated ourselves to a summer evening at the symphony. If short on sublimity, it was a thoroughly enjoyable night out. I confess to thinking the orchestra a trifle unfocused at first, but this was soon overcome, and each of the movements of the piano was gracefully shaped, and given with verve.  The joyous, light, elegant playing of Emanuel Ax was undeniably excellent, virtuosic without being jarringly showy. ("Without interpretation" was the last thing it was; this description in Mr. Gilbert's program note was meant as a compliment, but jarred. "If 'as if without interpretation' is the ideal," observed the Beloved Flatmate, "what's the point of live performance?" Exactly.) That Ax was so visibly delighted by the music was a delight in itself.

Nuits d'été and other voyages: Joyce DiDonato/NYPhil

The promise of Joyce DiDonato's "Nuits d'été" drew me to the last in this series of concerts by the New York Philharmonic; I was pleasingly surprised by the vitality of the program as a whole. The sensuality and exuberance of Berlioz and Mussorgsky were preceded by a contemporary divertissement. Steven Stucky's "Son et Lumière" was aptly described by the composer's note in the program as an entertainment. Its textures, defined by glimmering strings and playful percussion, underwent whimsical metamorphoses. On this first listen, I noticed no apparent direction or climax to the piece, which was somewhat disorienting, but it was still enjoyable.

Gautier

After latecomers were admitted came my main event: Berlioz' gorgeous cycle "Les Nuits d'été," six songs set to texts by Théophile Gautier, and tinged with just enough irony to save the lush romanticism from feeling overindulgent. The orchestra, I felt, could have explored more of the subtleties of the piece, but they did create a beautiful tapestry of sound. DiDonato, to my delight, was alert to both the work's intensity of emotion and the shifts--and layers--of its moods. In addition to radiance of tone and liquid phrasing, DiDonato brought to the songs a sensitive restraint which made the rich orchestration and extravagant language seem only the most suitable ways of communicating intimacy. "Villanelle" unfolded from flirtation to ecstasy; "Le spectre d'une rose" had its sensuous syllables sensually caressed. The dreamy waltz rhythms of the remembered ball were nicely handled by the orchestra, as well. The dark gravi of "Sur les lagunes" were delivered with unexpected authority. DiDonato made this a (self-)hypnotic narrative of obsessive grief, carried on the dark currents of the orchestra. Brighter color returned to the voice for a poignant "Reviens, reviens..." but by the third repetition of this plea in "Absence," its hope was acknowledged as delusory (and I got teary.) By "Au cimetière," of course, the beloved is only a tremulous ghost, a presence less real than the white dove, the yew tree, and the marble tomb. This haunted mood was shaken off utterly for "L'île inconnue"; DiDonato's body language became freer, and the joyously uninhibited fantasies of fresh love were celebrated in her flirtatiously showy description of a boat freighted with citrus, piloted by angels. The orchestra evokes memories of old loves; but the breeze is rising and new voyages await.

An Adventurous Vixen at the NYPhil

"My music remains young through contact with the eternally young rhythm of nature." --Janáček

To be honest, I found the scope and hyperbole of the NYPhil's advertising campaign for their latest collaborative event with Giants are Small rather irritating, but it seems to have paid off: last night, Avery Fisher Hall was very close to full with a healthy mixture of symphony stalwarts, twenty- and thirty-somethings, and European tourists. (Parenthetically, I didn't see many children in the audience. I did read articles about how Vixen is Not For Children Because It Has Sex And Death In It. But I read the Brothers Grimm when a child myself, and so was unimpressed by this argument.) As Andrew Porter once observed, avoiding "a Disneyish cuteness in the staging" can be difficult. I thought last night's effort succeeded reasonably well. Having the orchestra on stage behind the woodland glen (in the field of sunflowers) helped in this regard, as did the choreography of animal/human interactions. The costumes, too, balanced evocation of the animal and human, never to better effect than for the hens' print-dress plumage. Clifton Taylor's lighting design effected seamless transitions, transforming a sandy bank into a bridge, or the vixen's den into the table of the village inn. There was fine singing--some of it excellent--and the orchestra luxuriated in Janáček's musical landscapes. Lushness was emphasized over detail, I thought (though I should note that I'm not very familiar with the score) but the strings were on their best form, and both atmosphere and characterization were handled well.

Northernness: Karita Mattila and the NYPhil with Beethoven, Sibelius, and Nielsen

Karita Mattila with Sibelius art songs and a Beethoven concert aria, plus Ludwig's Eighth and a twentieth-century Scandinavian symphony sounded pretty irresistible to me.  So I was surprised (though certainly grateful) to find the NY Phil flogging student rush tickets for the event on its website.  It was as I was shuffling my way across the slick surface of Lincoln Plaza, my hood up to protect from falling flakes, that I realized the probable reason why: there are mountains of snow everywhere.  For those who braved the weather, Mattila gave an incandescent performance.  I was less thrilled with the symphonic offerings, but they may have suffered by contrast. [Update: the concert will be available for listening on the NYPhil website from Feb. 11-25.]

Then did Elijah the prophet break forth: Mendelssohn at the NYPhil

I was invited to hear Gerald Finley with the New York Phil under Alan Gilbert perform Mendelssohn's Elijah on Wednesday, and enjoyed a very fine performance from orchestra seating (a treat!)  The oratorio is a favorite piece of my Respected Father's, but it had been ages since I'd heard it.  Encountering it on Wednesday, I was intrigued by Mendelssohn's weaving of texts to create a powerful narrative of an individual's struggle for his faith (both on behalf of it publicly, and internally with doubt and even anger.) The English texts, excerpted from Job, the Psalms, and prophetic literature of the Old Testament, as well as the stories of Elijah, may be found here.  Many of the episodes in the oratorio are inherently--even sensationally--dramatic, with music for tempests, fire from heaven, and a miraculous raising of the dead, but Gilbert and the orchestra maintained a sense of tautness and drama through subtler passages as well.

The shape of sound: Debussy, Sibelius, and Lindberg at the NYPhil

Last night, I went to hear a much-advertised program comprising Debussy's Prélude à l’après-midi d'un faune, Sibelius' Violin Concerto in D minor, op. 47, and Magnus Lindberg's orchestral work Kraft.  (I then resisted the temptation to title this "A faun, a fantasy, and a Finn.")  Admittedly, none of this is opera, but it was exciting, so I thought I would share, with the caveat that I am, if anything, less qualified (because a less habitual listener) to review orchestral works than opera.  Still... it was a very interesting night out.  (An unfortunate drawback to the listening experience was that I was seated next to two snorers and behind a row of talkers; there was applause after the first movement of the Sibelius, and defections began approximately halfway through the Lindberg, growing gradually less surreptitious and more numerous up until a scant few minutes before the piece's conclusion.)